


The First Parliament of Ankh-Morpork

by jamesbow



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbow/pseuds/jamesbow
Summary: Lord Vetinari had been planning this for a long time. But Carrot knew how to plan too...
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	The First Parliament of Ankh-Morpork

"Mr. Home Secretary," Carrot began.

"Don't!" Vimes threw up a hand. "Don’t… call me that. I haven't accepted the gods-damn position, and you can't make me, so you don't get to address me as that."

Carrot gave him that sad little half-smile, that was both genuine and knowing. "You sure it's not better than 'Your Grace'?"

Sam glared. "You want that I call you 'Your Majesty'?"

Carrot winced. "Want? No. Have to accept? Probably. Commander. Sir."

Vimes sighed. "Carrot, you could call me Sam. After all this time, and where you are now, I think you've earned it."

"Certainly." Carrot's smile was brief. "Sir."

Vimes clenched his teeth and paced, something he'd had little chance to in the Oblong Office. Mostly, he'd stand to attention, focusing on a spot in the air above and an inch away from the man who used to sit behind the prominent desk. If he'd been honest with himself, Vetinari could have allowed him the latitude to pace -- rant, even. He'd earned it after all this time. But it never felt right. The Patrician ruled by making sure that many freedoms were possible, it just didn't feel right to exercise them.

With Carrot sitting in the Patrician's chair, it felt right to pace, only because it felt wrong to see Carrot there. Not that Carrot was wrong, just the mix. Like putting a fluffy Labrador at the head of one of Leonard of Qurim's armoured walkers.

What would feel right? Vimes's felt his gaze pulled to towards the wall, beyond which the golden throne of Ankh-Morpork, now fixed of its woodworm, sat waiting. When he looked back at Carrot, he saw the man's gaze come away from that wall too, and the man looking distinctly uncomfortable. But the look was put away in the work of a moment.

Vimes sighed. He settled himself down in the chair opposite Carrot. His shins were acting up again. "Vetenari couldn't help himself, could he?" he said, more quietly. "Just one last kick at the can. Commander, Knighthood, Your Grace, now 'Right Honourable'." He let out a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, right. Just one more title to bestow. Only he chose to bestow it posthumously so I couldn't plant my foot up his rear."

Carrot again gave Vimes that sad little half-smile. Already feeling the weight of destiny on his shoulders, no doubt, Vimes thought. "He may have appreciated it as a side-benefit," said Carrot, "But I don't think that was his sole intent. I think he had this planned for years. He may even have started when he looked at my sword that first time. He knew he wasn't going to live forever."

Vimes looked at Carrot sidelong. "Did you two talk about it?"

Carrot leaned forward on his desk. "Not often. Really, only twice. We came to an… understanding soon after I came to live here. Lord Vetinari loved this city -- more than I think people give him credit for. He knew the prophesies, and he put things together long before I did. He knew, just as you knew, what bad kings could do, and I didn't want to be a bad king. So, we did our best to keep my lineage secret. Though, of course, it still leaked."

Vimes listened carefully, then he leaned forward. "What was the second time?"

Carrot closed his eyes and looked away a moment. He took a deep breath before he answered, but he looked Vimes in the eye. "When he learned he was dying, but before he announced it. He invited me to the Palace, supposedly to show me the progress of the restoration work and the new museum. You know how much I like museums. He took me to the throne room, and showed me the throne."

Vimes nodded. "It's fixed, now."

"Yeah." Carrot shuddered. "Without anybody noticing or breathing a word. 'Ready for its next occupant', he said, and then he laughed. Then he looked at me and explained everything. He had all the proofs gathered. My lineage, even the archeological evidence of the burned coach. Papers were in a secret lockbox to be delivered to _The Times_ on the hour of his death. People had been assigned were going to take up my cause. He even… adjusted the guild leaders to ensure a unanimous vote on my succession to the throne. He'd even ordered the catering."

Vimes gaped. "And you just went along with it? Are you a King or a prisoner?"

Carrot shrugged. "Both, apparently."

Vimes shook his head, bewildered. "Surely, as King, you could just--"

"No," said Carrot, not loudly, but firmly, and Vimes found he had to stop. "Because he's right, Commander. If we left this just to the guilds, they'd mess it up. Ankh-Morpork is twice the size it was when Lord Vetinari became Patrician, and most of those people don't fit neatly into the guilds. They deserve a say, even if it will make things more chaotic. That's why I worked with him."

He leaned back. "Besides, I had a few ideas of my own. I've seen some of the things Pseudopolis has done with that new invention of theirs -- this 'constitution' -- and I thought to myself… how about a… constitutional monarchy. Vetinari kept Ankh-Morpork balanced by keeping everyone slightly off-balance. That's how he kept the guilds from abusing their power. And that's how the constitution will keep me and any of my successors from abusing mine. It brings everybody to the table, everyone has a role, and we all have to work together if we want it to work for all."

Vimes stood up again. His chair wobbled back a few inches, but stayed upright. "And so you just picked out a role for me, did you? What the hell does a Home Secretary do, anyway? Push more paper like Drumknott out there--" The fury ebbed from his voice as he came to the end of his sentence. Drumknott out there had been crying.

"You'd be one of the most trusted advisors of the government," Carrot replied. "Right up there with the Prime Minister. You'd also be responsible for keeping the peace within the bounds of Ankh-Morpork. You'd be in charge of policing, national security, including our secret service."

Vimes's eyebrows shot up, and he felt his chest twinge. Vetinari's network of spies, he thought. They could do with watching but… Oh, dear.

He glowered at Carrot. "I don't want it."

Carrot gave him another sad half-smile. "Can you recommend anybody else to take on the position? Anybody that you'd trust to handle such a role."

 _Damn you_ , thought Vimes. _Damn you to all the hells_. He pulled in his breath, let it out slowly and, leaning on the desk, looked Carrot in the eye and said, "I. Don't. Want. It."

He wanted to say more. To apologize for leaving Carrot in the state he was in. To explain that he was old, and feeling old. That young Sam was going to Unseen University at the beginning of the next semester. But that would have just dragged out and ultimately weakened his point, and he had to stay strong.

Carrot nodded and looked down. "I understand Commander. You have every right to refuse, and I have no power to force you. However, before you go, I want you to meet the new Prime Minister."

Vimes leaned back. "Really? Where is he, then?"

Carrot glanced at a timepiece on Vetenari's old desk. "He should be here right about… now."

There was a knock at the door, and Drumknott opened it, blowing his nose into his handkerchief. "Your majesty," he said, his voice raspy. "The Prime Minister--"

Drumknott ducked aside as the golem Mr. Pump ducked his head and came stomping through the door, carrying a struggling and shouting bundle clothed only in dishevelled veils under his arm.

"No, no, no!" Moist von Lipwig screamed. "I don't want to! You can't make me! No! No! No!"

"He got as far as Klatch this time, Your Majesty," said Mr. Pump as he clomped past towards the inner room. Drumknott rushed over to open the door, lest Mr. Pump crash through it. "I had to haul him out of a belly-dancing troupe. You may be hearing from the Klatchian ambassador about it. I'm very sorry."

"Good work, Mr. Pump," said Carrot.

Vimes stared as Mr. Pump, Drumknott, and the struggling Moist von Lipwig passed into the next room, until the door slammed, cutting off Moist's cries.

Vimes looked at Carrot. "Prime Minister? Him?"

Carrot shrugged. "He knows how to get things done. Revived the Post Office. Saved the Bank. Built the railroad to Far Uberwald. Current leader of the Board of Guilds, albeit on a brief sabbatical to Klatch, apparently."

"But he's a crook!"

Carrot shrugged again. "And now he can be a politician."

Vimes gaped at Carrot. "You're going to put Ankh-Morpork's government in the hands of a known conman and swindler?"

"It was Vetinari's plan," Carrot replied. "And we have the past few decades of Ankh-Morpork's progress to look upon for the benefits of Vetinari's plans, of keeping everybody off-balance, and balancing each other." He stood up, and this time he gave Vimes a warm smile. "I admit, he'll need watching, and I intend to do so, very carefully. But I must also admit, with a man like Moist, I could use all the help I can get?" He left the question hanging in the air.

Vimes stared at Carrot, at the smile, looking for some sign, any sign, of a smirk that would give Vimes the only excuse he needed to turn around and walk out of the office right now, ending their friendship, ending everything.

He found none.

He sighed. "What happens now?"

Carrot focused on the outer door of the Oblong Office, onto the corridor that would lead to the throne room. On his brow, Vimes saw the weight of destiny bearing down on him again. _The poor sod._

"I need to address the people of Ankh-Morpork. The journalists and the Guild leaders are gathering in the Throne Room. The Prime Minister may be a while before he's cleaned up enough to take his oath of office. I could use a senior government official by my side." He turned and offered Vimes his hand. "What do you say, Mr. Home Secretary?"

Vimes hesitated only a moment. Then he reached out and shook Carrot's hand. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Carrot nodded. "Sir."


End file.
